War and Peace
by julianka
Summary: (R/T) A relationship changes- at the speed of a rampaging glacier. (Chapter Eleven up!)
1. Default Chapter

Untitled  
Pairing: R/T  
Setting: First day of school, Rory's junior year at Chilton.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Feedback: Please. I'm really not sure about this, I just feel a need for more fluffiness on this planet.   
  
  
Part One:   
  
  
"So." Lorelai Gilmore leaned over the steering wheel and squinted out at the huge, ivy-covered school. "There it is."  
  
"Yup." Rory Gilmore stared grimly out the windshield. "In glorious Technicolor."  
  
"...you gonna make it?"  
  
"...maybe."  
  
"You know, it could probably be worse," Lorelai pointed out thoughtfully. "At least at Chilton you won't have to play those incredibly embarrassing first-day introduction games. They'll just assign you an six thousand page essay on the religious undercurrents of `War and Peace' instead."  
  
Her daughter grinned faintly. "Have I mentioned what a comfort you so are not?"  
  
"Not recently, no." Sighing, Lorelai reached out and ruffled Rory's dark hair. "Get cracking, kid, you're gonna be late."   
  
"Right." Squaring her shoulders, Rory gathered up her backpack and slipped out of the car. Waving goodbye to her mother, she turned toward the front steps. She hated the first day of school.   
  
***   
  
"Good morning, students," an attractive young woman stood at the front of Rory's fourth period classroom, looking extremely nervous. "As I'm sure you all know, this will be my first year teaching world literature at Chilton. Um, or at Chilton at all, for that matter. My name is Ms. Medcast." She wrote her name on the board. As she attempted to cross the "t", she dropped the chalk. Twice. The steady gazes of a classroom full of moody rich kids seemed to unnerve her.  
  
Rory's heart would have bled for her, but since both Tristan Dugray and Paris Gellar had been in every one of her classes so far, it was busily bleeding for itself. The new school year was looking decidedly grim. As yet, no one had said a single word to her and from the blank, indifferent look on Tristan's face and the dark one on Paris's when they'd seen her, that situation was unlikely to be changing in the near future. Rory was the first to admit that she'd make mistakes in her dealings with both of them, but she really didn't think being utterly ignored was necessary-  
  
"Anyway," the young teacher rushed on, "I realize that you are accustomed to an extremely academic environment here at Chilton, and I promise that we'll get to our first assignment before class is out, but I thought we could start off with a little-"  
  
No, don't say it, Rory thought desperately.  
  
"-introduction game!"   
  
Damn.  
  
"I'll pair you all up, and you can get to know one another, and then introduce one another to the rest of the class. You have five minutes, so let's hurry. Okay," Ms. Medcast began pointing, pairing up students from random parts of the classroom. "You and him, and you with her, and you," she pointed at Rory, "and. you."   
  
Rory didn't want to turn around. For that matter, she didn't need to turn around- it was already painfully obvious that God hated her. Her stomach aching with the cold certainty of doom, Rory turned in her seat, her eyes following the line of the teacher's finger. And sure enough, it was pointed squarely at a haughty looking boy with a rumpled blazer, a pretty face, and a carefully careless mop of blonde hair.   
  
And again, Rory scowled, damn.   
  
Yet knowing the worst had come brought with it a strange sense of calm. Without fanfare, Rory scooped up her pack and went over to Tristan, sliding into the recently vacated chair next to him. "Hello, Tristan," she said quietly, resigning herself to either an insult or an innuendo. "How was your summer?"  
  
He stared at her for a moment, absolutely no emotion visible on his almost ridiculously handsome face. "Fine," he said eventually. "And yours?"  
  
Rory blinked- what had happened to the suddenly polite-and-distant Tristan Dugray? "What's wrong with you?" she asked curiously. "Aren't you going to. I don't know, say something?" Where was her insult? Was he not feeling well?   
  
Tristan raised his eyebrows "I did."  
  
He did? Oh yeah, her summer. "Right. Well, my summer was fine too, I guess. So, um, how do you want me to introduce you to the class?"  
  
"It doesn't matter," he replied the same detached tone. "Everyone at school except for this new woman knows me already, and she's a lit teacher. Just tell her that I've gone to Chilton since kindergarten and my favorite book is "A Confederacy of Dunces"."  
  
"Ohhhkay." Rory was really confused now. "Shouldn't we-"  
  
"No," Tristan interrupted her briskly, "we shouldn't. Look, time's almost up. You got anything special you want me to say?"  
  
"I don't think so. I started here halfway through last year, and my favorite book is-" Rory was cut off by Ms. Medcast's nervous-yet-still-perky voice.  
  
"Okay- time's up. Why don't you two start?" Rory gazed up at the enthusiastic young instructor, her mouth still open.   
  
"Um, this is Tristan Dugray. He's been attending Chilton since kindergarten. His favorite book is `A Confederacy of Dunces'." Rory groped for something else to tack on. "And. he likes basketball," she finally added, rather lamely. It had to be a safe bet. All boys liked basketball, right?  
  
"And you?" Ms. Medcast turned expectantly to Tristan. Reflexively, Rory narrowed her eyes at him. She hadn't had a chance to say anything. If Tristan embarrassed her on the first day, she'd never-   
  
"This is Rory Gilmore." Tristan said coolly, never glancing in Rory's direction. "She lives in a little town called Stars' Hollow, she likes girlie rock and coffee, and her favorite author is Jane Austen."   
  
Well, Rory blinked. That was unexpected.  
  
"Great! Lovely to meet you both. And what about you two." Ms. Medcast moved on to new prey.   
  
Rory was still pondering Tristan's truly remarkable ability to guess all sorts of (accurate) things about her when Ms. Medcast finished her introductions and returned to the front of the classroom. "All right, class. I thought we'd start off the year with a bang." She hefted a crate of battered paperbacks on an empty front row desk. "Could you all step up here and grab a copy of `War and Peace'? I'd like for you to have read the first section by Friday, and I`d like an essay on a related topic by..."  
  
  
TBC   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

  
Author's Note: Okay, like most everything I do, I wrote the first part of this at one in the morning and woke up the next morning with no idea of what do next. Damn insomnia. But, due to all those lovely, lovely reviews (Hi, Nes! *waves crazily*) inspiration did eventually return. So here ya go. Hope everyone likes it. I'm sorry to just dispose of Dean, but as everyone who's read my epic Roswell fic knows, I'm not an angst fan and, despite his wholesome cuteness, Dean is just too much of a drama queen.   
  
  
Part the Second:  
  
"So how'd it go, babe?"   
  
In response, Rory ripped the paper coffee cup from her mother's surprised hands and slugged it back like it was whiskey. "Hit me again," she gasped, crumpling the now-empty cup in one hand.  
  
"Oooohkay." Let it never be said that Lorelai Gilmore had failed to meet her daughter's basic needs. The tires of the SUV spun on the gravel of the Chilton parking lot as she gunned it for the nearest restaurant that served both coffee and ice cream. A remarkably short three and a half minutes later, they were swinging their feet on the stools of Ben's Café and stalking the slow-moving waitress with their eyes.   
  
"Come to us," Lorelai whispered compellingly, her eyes never leaving the waitress. "Take our order."  
  
Rory tried to mentally summon ice cream. She visualized it, happily melting in a little bowl in front of her-  
  
"And what would y'all like today?"  
  
"Now," Lorelai announced when their food had been placed in front of them, "I have fed you, nurtured you, offered the comfort of my maternal bosom. Whatever. So spill."  
  
Rory looked grimmer than ever. "Paris spent the whole day looking at me like I was the kind of person that tapped on the glass at the zoo, Tristan has suddenly become the Ice Queen, and the rest of Chilton continues to be blithely unaware of my existence. In addition, I have three essays, one short story, and two quizzes in my immediate future. All in all, my life is not looking up."  
  
Wordlessly, Lorelai pushed her dish of ice cream toward her.  
  
Rory's day didn't improve. The Gilmore household ran out of toothpaste, so she was forced to go to the market and endure the soulful stare of her ex-boyfriend from behind the baked beans on aisle six. Her romance with Dean had, sadly, fizzled by mid-July. The first few weeks were blissful, but it soon became apparent that Dean was one of the dreaded "But I thought we were gonna see it *together*" type of guys. It only took a few short weeks for Rory to discover that she did not, in fact, enjoy having a Dean-shaped shadow and politely break things off with him. He took the break-up about as well as could be expected- that is, their interaction had dwindled into impersonal pleasantries on Rory's part and longing, heartfelt stares on his. Rory found these exchanges excruciatingly embarrassing, and avoided Dean and the market whenever possible. But when a girl ran out of toothpaste, a trip to the only store in town was unavoidable. Rory escaped as soon as possible, but the irritating memory of Dean's dark-eyed stare of anguish just served to make her bad mood even worse.  
  
School didn't help either. As the week progressed, Paris continued to attempt to skewer Rory with the force of her unique mega-glare and Tristan continued his campaign of icy civility. By Thursday, Rory was ready to scream. With the exception of teachers calling her name at roll call and the bizarre introduction situation with Tristan, no one had addressed a single word to her. She didn't expect her fellow students to elect her homecoming queen, Rory thought waspishly, but since when was she invisible? To add to her stress, Chilton teachers always began the year with a generous batch of homework to "refresh" their students.  
  
Rory was dragging herself toward her locker after her last class when she was presented with a familiar and strangely welcome sight- Tristan's broad-shouldered form leaning against her locker. Rory's mood took a sudden upswing. Finally, finally something was back to normal! Cheered by the unexpected return to the status quo, Rory immediately fell back into comfortable pattern. Her "Move your pampered butt off my locker, DuGrey," came out almost perky.  
  
"Huh?" Tristan's equally intelligent reply was cut off as soon as he saw who was speaking. "Oh," he continued in a much more formal tone, "Excuse me." And he moved away, leaning on the neighboring locker while he scribbled a note.  
  
*Excuse* me?   
  
EXCUSE ME? Since when, Rory fumed, did Tristan Dugrey, King of the Innuendo, beg her pardon? What was his problem?! Where did he get off, ignoring her all week and then... then... saying 'excuse me'?! "What the hell is your problem?" she blurted out.   
  
Tristan's hand stilled on the paper, but he didn't look up. "Nothing. I moved, didn't I? Lay off, Rory."  
  
Rory reeled. Rory? Since when did he call her Rory? "What, you're addressing me by name now? Since when?"  
  
Tristan still refused to meet her eyes. Turning, he stuffed the note into the locker two doors down. "Since now. Look, I'm busy."  
  
"Hey! What- I mean, why are you ignoring me? Are you, uh, mad at me?" For some strange reason that Rory didn't care to investigate too closely, Tristan's brush-off hurt.  
  
That did it. Tristan's eyes snapped up. "Am I mad at you? What kind of question is that? What's your problem, Rory? We aren't friends, remember? And you're sure as hell not my girlfriend. So why should I talk to you?"  
  
"But... but... but I thought you liked me. I thought we were friends." Rory said weakly. "...well, sort of. Uh, more or less."   
  
"Christ," Tristan growled. "Look, I am not doing this again. Have you always been this self-centered? How come I'm just now noticing it?" Without waiting for an answer, he stomped off down the hallway.  
  
Rory gaped after him like a landed fish. "I am *not* self-centered!" she finally yelled after him, much to the enjoyment of the few students still lingering in the halls.   
  
But Tristan had already rounded the corner.   
  
  
TBC  



	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: Hey, guys. As ever, thanks for the feedback. Uh, I'm trying out a little drama here. Tell me if it sucks, I can take it.   
  
  
  
Part Three:  
  
Rory would rather rip out her tongue than admit it, but she was a woman on a mission. Come hell or high water, she would find Tristan and find out exactly what he meant by that... that... *ludicrous* insult he'd tossed at her. She was NOT self-centered, she assured herself for the thousandth time that day.   
  
Tristan was simply insane.  
  
In fact, Rory pointed out to herself, dignifying his insult with a response was probably a waste of her valuable time. He was just a jerk, and his pathetic attempt to upset her had been absolutely, one-hundred-percent ineffective.   
  
But she was keeping an eagle eye out for a tousled blonde head, just the same. He'd been in class, but somehow managed to avoid her during the breaks. Well, all that was about to change. Rory sliced through the hallways like a knife, marching past startled Chilton students without a glance. Where was the little-   
  
Ah. There he was. Of course.   
  
Tristan was back in traditional form. He was leaning gracefully against the hood of his glinting silver convertible, his Chilton blazer tossed haphazardly in the passenger seat. He had loosened his tie, and was directing the full force of his lazy smile at the pair of gorgeous blonde senior girls fawning all over him.   
  
Well, thought Rory maliciously, she'd soon put a stop to that. "Hey, you jerk," she hissed, marching up to Tristan and poking him viciously in the chest. "I need to talk to you. Right now." Turning to the startled girls, she smiled tightly. "Could you excuse us, please?" She turned her back, unmistakably dismissing them. Her eyes narrowed as she heard their retreating footsteps, and she drew in a deep breath, intent on giving Tristan a healthy dressing-down-   
  
Tristan just turned that lazy grin on her. "Why, Rory. I do believe you've just become a Chilton statistic. If I had a dollar for every girl who'd screamed 'hey, you jerk' at me...."  
  
Rory closed her eyes in horror. Now everyone would think that she'd- best not to think of that now. "Shut up."  
  
"Oh, and I see your vocabulary has improved over the summer!"  
  
A pulsing headache was beginning to form. Rory frowned against the pressure, trying to focus on her objective. What was she going to do? Oh, yeah. Rip Tristan's head off. "Look, Tristan. What's wrong with you lately? And where the hell do you get off, calling me self-centered?"  
  
Tristan's smile never faltered, but if Rory had been feeling better she might have noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now, now, Rory, did I hurt your feelings? Naughty of me. I simply meant that you didn't seem to be particularly interested in... well, anyone other than yourself. Well, and your little friends back home on the farm."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Rory ground out.   
  
"Did I confuse you? Well, let's review, shall we? Madeline and Louise tried to be your friends, in their own special half-witted way, and what did you do? Blew them off. Not quite brainy or virtuous enough for the genius Miss Gilmore, were they? And we all know how well your friendship with Paris worked out."  
  
"That was YOUR fault," accused Rory. God, her head was really pounding now.  
  
"Really?" Tristan's brow rose. "Why?"  
  
"Because... because... you couldn't keep your fat mouth shut!"  
  
"I just told the truth," he pointed out.   
  
Rory opened her mouth. Then she shut it again. When he put it like that- no, she thought fiercely, it *was* his fault. It was just this awful headache, making her stupid....  
  
"And then, of course, there's me," Tristan continued mercilessly, although something was flickering behind the careful blankness of his eyes. "You hate me, remember? But I deserved it, didn't I? Bugging you, acting like an idiot. Staring at you like a fool."  
  
Rory's head hurt, hurt, hurt. Why did she feel like *she* should be apologizing? "Look, Tristan, I...." She'd forgotten why she came after him. "Uh, I don't feel so well. We'll continue this later, 'kay? I gotta... get home. Or something. I need to be... somewhere else." And grabbing her backpack with an unsteady hand, she turned and hurried off toward the bus stop.   
  
Good, thought Tristan viciously. At least he'd flustered her, punctured her serene, indifferent bubble for just a moment. He took a deep breath, willing away the sharp pang of longing he still felt whenever he saw her- and then he saw Rory's retreating form lurch sharply to the side, causing her to stumble. "Shit," he hissed, realizing that what he had taken for nerves and temper was, in truth, illness. Heaving a sigh, he loped after her, catching up with her in relatively few strides and grabbing her arm.  
  
"Hey," protested Rory, weakly pulling her arm free.  
  
"You're sick," he announced briskly. "Do you need me to take you to the doctor?"  
  
"No," she hissed. "It's just a migraine. I get them sometimes. I have medication at home. Go away, Tristan."  
  
His eyelid dropped for just a moment. Then he shook himself, seeming to make up his mind. "I won't. Here, I'll give you a ride home."  
  
"I don't need-"  
  
"I'm faster than the damn bus, alright?" Tristan's voice was sharp. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just a ride home."  
  
Rory closed her eyes. "Okay."  
  
TBC   



	4. Chapter Four

Author's note: Heh. Remember me? *blows dust and cobwebs off her story* Er- thank you all (rather belatedly) for your comments. I'll finish this story soon. Promise.  
  
Part Four: Coffee Kills  
  
Twenty minutes later and she still wasn't looking so good, Tristan thought worriedly as he looked over at the dark haired girl slumped in his passenger seat. She looked... well, ghastly. Her eyes were shut, her face was chalky, and her hands were shaking. Hell. He didn't know anything about migraines, but she looked utterly pathetic. His firm resolve to keep his mouth sealed shut around her was slipping further away with each glance in her direction. "Uh- Rory?"  
  
Her eyes, when she opened them, were glassy. "Hmm?"  
  
"Your migraine. Do you need something special for that? `Cause I have some aspirin in the car."  
  
A thin twist of embarrassed red appeared in her pale cheeks. "Uh, no, thank you.... See- it's not exactly a traditional migraine. Precisely."  
  
Huh? "So why do you look like the undead? And you said you had medicine for it at home."  
  
The twisty blush spread to the tips of her ears, but any color in her face was good color, as far as Tristan was concerned. Her hands still shook, though. "Er- well, I do. Sort of. At Luke's, anyway. You see, I'm... I'm... I'mincaffeinewithdrawl."  
  
"You. Are. What?" He would not kill her for scaring him needlessly, Tristan told himself. Probably. "You look like- well, like you're looking right now, all because you're short on coffee?"  
  
Rory breathed out with a little huff and closed her eyes again, reaching up with trembling hand to massage her temples. "Can we not do the mocking thing right now? My head feels like there's a brass band having an orgy in my frontal lobe. I really do appreciate the ride home, but if you're gonna make fun of me-"  
  
With difficulty, Tristan loosened his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. "I just didn't realize that going eight hours without coffee was enough to make you physically ill," he hissed.  
  
"That's because your mother probably didn't introduce you to coffee at roughly the same time you met mother's milk. Look, I have a slight problem with caffeine, okay? And it wasn't eight hours, it was over twenty. I haven't had any coffee since last night, and I didn't sleep very well, thanks to you being a jerk, and caffeine addiction is a real problem, you can look it up, and I just really, really, really-" her voice broke, and Tristan realized that she wasn't kidding- "need some coffee. Now. Or I think I'm gonna throw up."  
  
"Okay." Tristan wisely shut up, focusing on driving as fast as possible rather than on the fact that she'd just scared ten years of his life. A few minutes and a handful of murmured directions later, Tristan's sleek little car nipped into a parking space in front of Luke's Hardware, a strange looking storefront that Rory seemed to feel would help her stop looking like a zombie with tuberculosis. "Just- stay there," he ordered, slapping her hands away from her seat belt. "I'll go in. You stay put."  
  
The dark-haired, surly man behind the counter handed over two to-go cups of coffee without comment and Tristan hurried back out to Rory. Sliding back into the car, he put his cup into the holder and carefully extended the other toward her. She pulled herself up a little higher in the chair, shaking hands lifting to take the coffee from him. Tristan eyed her for a moment. He was gonna regret this, he just knew it, but it had to be done. "Put your hands down, Rory. I'll help you."  
  
Too ill to argue, Rory simply closed her eyes and took a sip of the cup that he held to her lips. Tristan looked at her- her dark hair and delicate features, the trusting look on her face as she leaned toward him.... It was torture.  
  
****  
  
Ten minutes later, he dropped off a blushing, quiet (but infinitely healthier-looking) Rory on her doorstep, dismissing her muttered thank-you-for-your-help with a wave of his hand. As soon as he was sure that she had gotten safely inside and that her mother was on her way home, he practically ran for his car. He needed to be somewhere, anywhere else, and he needed to be there now.  
  
But no amount of running would help, Tristan thought grimly as he careened out of Rory's picture-perfect little town, running the single stoplight. He knew he was screwed. Again. Forty minutes alone with Rory Gilmore- even a sick, pathetic Rory Gilmore- and his crush-from-hell had returned full force.  
  
Damn it.  
  
TBC 


	5. Chapter Five

Author's Note: Thank you for all of your reviews. You've inspired me, so I'm trying to speed up with this puppy. Of course, I could hardly move slower....  
  
Chapter Five  
  
The next day dawned crisp, cool, and beautiful. Rory stepped off the bus and took a deep breath. Physically, she felt great. There were no after affects from her coffee misadventure yesterday, she had had a full night's sleep, and, miracle of miracles, she had woken up early enough to have breakfast at Luke's, rather than eating one of the week-old donuts that were lurking next to the toaster at home. She was half an hour early to school. All signs were pointing toward a damn nice day.  
  
After one teensy-tiny little detour.  
  
Rory scowled down at the thermos of coffee she was carrying. All she had to do was find him, offer a "thanks for the ride", smile, hand over the coffee, and walk away. It would take ninety seconds, tops. And then hightail it out of there. Any dim thoughts she might have had about friendship with a boy like Tristan were obviously the product of a Pop tart gone bad. There were two hundred students at Chilton. If she wanted friendships at school, she would just find less complicated ones. That would be the logical thing to do, and she was a logical girl.  
  
Now, where was he?  
  
She checked all of his usual haunts. His car was there, but he wasn't leaning against his locker, smirking as he held court. He wasn't smirking in the courtyard, smirking in the cafeteria, or smirking in the gym. So where the hell *was* he smirking?  
  
She wasn't checking all the janitor's closets. Ew. Or the men's rooms. Double ew. If he was smirking in there, he could do so in peace.  
  
Frustrated, Rory gave up. She'd see him in first period, anyway. That might even be better. She'd only have a split second to hand over the coffee and escape. She headed for the library, planning to put the twenty minutes before class to good use, her mind still on Tristan. It was weird. When you didn't want to see Tristan, he popped up everywhere. When you looked for him, he turned into Teen Phantom. It was a good thing she'd decided she didn't want to see him. For once, the bizarre Tristan-mojo was working in her favor. Congratulating herself on this stroke of luck, she stepped inside the library, and immediately spotted Tristan's tousled blonde head, seated with his back to her at one of the long library tables.  
  
Bizarre-Tristan-mojo one, Rory zero.  
  
****  
  
Tristan was glaring at the book open in front of him. Why did he need to understand the cultural nuances of "War and Peace"? What good would it possibly do him? This wasn't like the infamous checkbook balancing math, this was just a waste of brain space. "I hate you," he told the fat little book. "You are very boring, and filled with confusingly titled Russian people."  
  
"Just remember," said a cool, familiar voice from behind him, "Grand Dukes and Duchesses outrank Princes and Princesses. Uh, I think."  
  
Tristan stood up so fast, he knocked over his chair. Luckily, he was no longer sitting in it. Unluckily, when both he and Rory stooped to pick it up, they crashed their heads together.  
  
"Ow!" They scowled in unison.  
  
"Here. You do it," Rory said, toeing the still up-ended chair with her saddle shoe, frowning down at it. Still rubbing his head, Tristan did so. He took an awfully long time straightening it out, too, avoiding her eyes. Watching him intently align the chair a precise half-inch from the table edge, Rory suddenly realized that he felt as awkward as she did. The thought was strangely cheering, lending her some sorely needed self-confidence. She could thank *this* Tristan. "Hey, I brought you coffee. To thank you. You know, for the ride home."  
  
Slowly bringing his eyes up to hers, Tristan hesitantly took the thermos she held out to him. "It was no big deal," he told her. "But thanks for the coffee, anyway. Although I'm not sure how I feel about a beverage with the power to make me look like you did yesterday that isn't illegal for people under twenty-one." He frowned down at the thermos.  
  
Rory's eyes lit up. "That's okay, I can drink it," she said, grabbing for the thermos.  
  
"Ah-ah-ah." Tristan held the thermos high above his head. "I, at least, can be trusted with it." Rory's face fell, and he had to squash an un-Tristan-like urge to just hand her the coffee. In order to stop himself from doing anything stupid, he reached over and grabbed his book. "So, you probably aren't getting personal with your copy of "War and Peace", are you?"  
  
Rory raised her eyebrows. "No, we're more like nodding acquaintances. You know, friendly, but nothing too intense."  
  
Tristan rolled his eyes. "How can you stand it? All those characters. All those *titles*. How can you even remember who's who?"  
  
"I made a chart," She explained, grinning. "It's on my bedroom wall- a character family tree. You should see it- I color-coded it, and there are stickers to indicate what the relationships are."  
  
"Hey, that sounds amazing. Could I-" Suddenly realizing what was coming out of his mouth, Tristan snapped his mouth shut.  
  
Rory looked at him curiously. "Could you what?"  
  
"Nothing." Tristan began stuffing his things into his backpack. "We should go. We're gonna be late."  
  
"We have ten minutes." Rory hesitated. "Could you *what*, Tristan?"  
  
Tristan's shoulders slumped. He was just setting himself up for disappointment; he knew it. "I was just wondering if maybe I could see it sometime before we finish this unit. It's no big deal-" He broke off, looking uncomfortable.  
  
Rory stared up at him, her mind whirling. He was being nice. Normal. Well, as normal as he got. The logical portion of her brain reminded her of all of the dozens of other, easier friendships she could be making, and she weighed those against the value of *his* friendship. Was Tristan worth trying to be friends with again? She took another look at him, tense and miserable and embarrassed, scowling down at Tolstoy's masterpiece.  
  
Yes. Yes, he was. Damn it.  
  
"Okay," she said. "How about tomorrow?"  
  
Tristan jerked his head up, his blue eyes stunned. "Tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah." Rory managed a tiny, friendly grin. "You know, the day after today."  
  
An indescribable emotion flickered over his face. "Oh. Okay. Um. That would be... nice."  
  
TBC 


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: Thank you all for the feedback. (Hiya, Nes! I thought you were dead- good to know you're still among the kicking....)  
  
For those of you who follow the books that Rory reads in fanfics- or am I the only one?- "The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys" is an amazing book, and I think everyone should read it. Also, I stole a quote from a Jenny Crusie book in this chapter, and those of you that catch it are exceptionally cool people. That said, here's:  
  
Part Six  
  
Rory floated through the remainder of her day. To her credit, this really had very little to do with her tentative steps towards Tristan-friendship. The day just lived up to its gorgeous-weather, good-breakfast-omens promise. She got a 100% on a quiz, Paris had laryngitis, and she was getting to a really great part in her current book- "The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys". Her uniform wasn't bunchy, her socks weren't slipping, and her hair was on its best behavior. It was just that kind of sunny, kick-ass day.  
  
She smiled radiantly on the bus ride to Star's Hollow, she skipped home from the bus stop, and she was humming a cheerful little tune and making herself some toast when her mother stomped in.  
  
"I'm home, I'm grumpy, and we're one day closer to seeing my parents," Lorelai announced, stalking into the kitchen. "Explain to me why you're humming `Bizarre Love Triangle'. Clearly, today is not a New Order kind of day. It's a Nine Inch Nails kind of day. What's wrong with you?"  
  
Rory thought about it. "Nope. It's definitely a New Order kind of day. But I could hum from the new album, if you want. Less catchy."  
  
Lorelai considered it. "Okay. That's fair. So- you hungry? Burgers or pizza?"  
  
"Mmm. Pizza."  
  
"Sounds good. I'll call. You got a ton of homework, babe?"  
  
"It's not too bad, actually." Rory smiled down at her toast. "I thought I'd clean my room."  
  
Her mother looked confused. "Why? Do we need to make room for even more books? I'm telling you, one earthquake and you are a pancake-"  
  
"Nope." Rory's grin widened. "You're not gonna believe it."  
  
"Oh, oh, tell!"  
  
"Tristan is coming over."  
  
A sudden silence fell.  
  
"...Mom?"  
  
"Just a second, babe. My jaw is still dropped."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Another minute of silence.  
  
"Okay, all better now." Lorelai began to bounce. "Oh my God, what happened? Did you two get assigned to a school project together, one that will entail long hours spent together in relative solitude, during which you can get over your mutual issues and decide you dig one another? `Cause I can totally see that happening. It would be waaaay romantic." She sighed, dreamily.  
  
Rory looked at her strangely. "Ah, no, sorry. This will be a romance-free visit."  
  
Lorelai huffed. "Damn- it would make a good story, though, wouldn't it? Wealthy boy falls for girl from wrong side of the trust fund, girl rescues boy from choking on silver spoon-"  
  
"Okay, you're a dork," Rory interrupted, grinning. "He's just coming over to see my "War and Peace" chart."  
  
"So you say," Lorelai said, smirking.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Rory skipped to her room. Perky as a squirrel, she flung open the door. It was dusty, piled with books, and littered with clothes, stuffed animals, and old homework. A lilac bra was drying over the radiator, her stuffed chicken Rosemary occupied a place of honor on her bed, and a week's worth of uniforms were kicked into a pile in the corner. It was a typical teenage girl's room.  
  
And in less than twenty-four hours, Tristan Dugrey would be seeing it.  
  
Tristan would be IN this room. Her room. TRISTAN would be looking in HER ROOM. With Rosemary and her still-damp lilac bra.  
  
Good God.  
  
Rory fell to cleaning with a vengeance.  
  
****  
  
Across town, in his family's spacious garage, Tristan frowned down at his car. His family's servants kept the exterior clean, but the interior was his sacred territory. It was a pit- a moving pile of rumpled school blazers, scraps of paper, and stinky sports equipment. Doodled-on school assignments were lost in a sea of candy wrappers, empty soda cans, and old gym socks. There was nowhere to sit in the back seat and the whole thing smelled vaguely like a goat. It was a typical teenage boy's car.  
  
And less than twenty-four hours, Rory Gilmore would be sitting in it.  
  
Rory Gilmore, the girl of his dreams, would be sitting in HIS car. And this time she wouldn't be nauseous- he hoped.  
  
Good God.  
  
Tristan fell to cleaning with a vengeance.  
  
TBC 


	7. Chapter Seven

Author's Note: Hey, everybody. Check it out: a title! And only seven chapters in! This, for me, is actually pretty impressive- my "Roswell" fic went nameless for much longer. Thanks for all your kind reviews- feedback makes me tingly.  
  
  
  
Part Seven:  
  
  
  
"Miss Gilmore?"  
  
Rory jumped, startled by her sixth-period teacher's voice. "Yes?"  
  
"If the patch of carpet you've been staring at for the past fifteen minutes won't miss you *too* terribly, would you mind focusing your attention on the board?"  
  
"Sorry." Rory could have kicked herself. Her mind kept drifting, and it was wreaking havoc on her reputation as the school's second-most-obsessive student. She cared about- she had to take a quick look at the board- conjugating Latin verbs, she really did, but somehow her traitorous brain kept meandering in undesirable directions.  
  
Tristan-y directions.  
  
What would he think of her house? What would he think about her town? Her mother? Her evil monkey lamp? What if Babette was outside, chatting with the garden gnomes?  
  
Then again, why did she care what Tristan thought? She *shouldn't* care. It wasn't logical-  
  
Oh, God, had she remembered to close her underwear drawer this morning?  
  
"Miss Gilmore!"  
  
Drat.  
  
~~~~  
  
Tristan wasn't much better off, but his teachers were more familiar with his lack of attention. He was, in a word, fretting. How should he play this? Swaggering arrogance (his favorite) was obviously *not* an option. Should he go for pathetically grateful? It didn't feel right. He tried to picture himself- effusive, gushing thanks, eyes misting with gratitude….  
  
Or not.  
  
But if he didn't think of a damn good plan in the immediate future, he, Chilton's very own Master of Seduction, was going to have to Play It By Ear.  
  
Tristan *hated* playing things by ear. He was the kind of guy who liked a plan- well, at least when it came to his dealings with the opposite sex.  
  
Feeling vaguely grumpy, he tried to look nonchalant as he strolled up to Rory's locker after school. "Hey," he greeted her. Why did the stupid uniform have to look so good on her? Who was *flattered* by royal-blue plaid, damn it?  
  
She jumped, whirling around. "Hi. Uh, how's it going?"  
  
Tristan shrugged. "Not bad. So, you still up for showing me your-"  
  
"Sure she is!" A passing classmate with an exceptionally dirty mind began to laugh. "You da man, Dugrey!"  
  
Rory closed her eyes.  
  
"…WAR AND PEACE POSTER!" Tristan raised his voice in irritation, scowling at the retreating back of their fellow student. Some nearby cheerleaders looked at him with concern. He closed his eyes, too.  
  
Rory sighed, opened her eyes, and squared her shoulders. "You know it." Both looking rather fierce, they marched out to the student parking lot. Rory held her head high, ignoring the smirking grins of assorted football players and the grim expressions on the handful of perfectly groomed young women who just "happened" to be hanging out next to Tristan's car.  
  
Conversation was virtually non-existent until they had reached Stars' Hollow, and both teens were feeling a little on edge. By the time they had reached the pretty little town square, Tristan had hunched his shoulders almost up to his ears, and Rory's habitual good manners were screaming at her. She had extended the invitation; it was clearly her responsibility to open with the small talk. "So," she began- not at all awkwardly- "Your car is very, um, clean."  
  
"Thanks." Tristan still looked tense. "Your, uh, town is very clean, too." He did a double take. "Very, very clean. Er- is that guy dusting his sidewalk?"  
  
Rory craned past him to look at the frowning man in a cardigan, enthusiastically swishing a pink feather duster across the sidewalk. "Oh, yeah. That's Taylor. He says the street sweeping machine in this town is a menace to the business community."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
She grinned. "Actually, yeah. But, see, Taylor hates it 'cause it kicks up dust, but the *real* problem with it is that it used to be a Zamboni. Somebody just jury-rigged the street-sweeper thingie on with duct tape, and one of these days it's just gonna go flying off and crush some prospective shopper. And then the Stars' Hollow business community is going to lose that person's business forever." She looked thoughtful. "Well, except for Frannie."  
  
"Frannie?"  
  
"Owner of Frannie's Funeral Emporium."  
  
"Ah." Tristan tried looked solemn. "That's a very, er, sad story."  
  
Rory nodded soberly. "It will be. Again, except for Frannie. And maybe her accountant."  
  
Tristan snickered. He couldn't help it.  
  
Once Taylor and Frannie had broken the ice, the two teens managed to keep up a strain of cheerful, mildly snide conversation until they pulled up outside the Gilmore residence. It wasn't until they had parked the car, grabbed their backpacks, climbed the steps, and stepped inside the messy hallway that Rory realized the danger her new almost-friend was in.  
  
"Hi, honey! Oooh, is this *Tristan*? I've heard so much about you!" Lorelai was home, and she was smiling her sunniest, most deadly smile. Rory winced. Tristan had been a total jerk, true- but did he really deserve her mother in Avenging-Goddess-Mode?  
  
Tristan, Rory was pleasantly surprised to note, had the good sense to look terrified.  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
Next Chapter: Tristan thinks on his feet. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: Hiya, everybody! Thank you all for the lovely reviews. We're almost ready to kick the "romance" part of this story into, well, extremely slow gear. Wish me luck.  
  
Disclaimer: Still not mine.  
  
  
  
Part Eight:  
  
Tristan tried for a charming grin, and managed (to his credit) a kind of sickly, lopsided chin-wobble. "Hello, Ms. Gilmore."  
  
"Please," Lorelai waved her hand. "Ms. Gilmore is my mother. My name is Lorelai."  
  
"Well, um, okay. Hello, Lor-"  
  
"But *you* may call me, 'My Lady'."  
  
Tristan knew fear. Lorelai seemed to scent this, and her shark-smile returned, bigger and scarier than ever.  
  
It was time to intervene. Rory gave her mother a stern look. "Mother. Play nice."  
  
Lorelai's smile dimmed. "Awww… Rorrrr-y."  
  
"Go to the kitchen." Rory pointed. "And don't come back until you're ready to be civil."  
  
Lorelai looked sulky. "You never let me make them cry." Muttering to herself, she stomped off to the kitchen.  
  
Tristan let out the breath he'd been holding. "So… that was your mom."  
  
"In the flesh."  
  
"She's…" Tristan groped for a suitable adjective, and immediately discarded "hot" and "terrifying". "She's um, different."  
  
"Aw, did she scare you?" Rory gave him a mock-sympathetic smile.  
  
"No way," Tristan tried to look manly and nonchalant. In the kitchen, Lorelai slammed a cupboard and he flinched. Violently.  
  
Rory snickered. "Sure. Well, c'mon, Big Man. I'll protect you from my mother. After all, she's probably not much more than two inches shorter than you and, oh, forty pounds lighter."  
  
Tristan scrambled for a snarky response, and eventually was forced to fall back on honesty. "Thank you," he said, sincerely. He wondered whether or not she'd let him hold her hand. It wouldn't be pure lust- it would help shield him from her mother, too. But it would probably piss her off, so he was gonna have to just make it past her mother without-  
  
To Tristan's not-inconsiderable surprise and delight, Rory abruptly ended this internal debate by snagging his sleeve and dragging him past her mother and into her bedroom.  
  
It was immaculate, smelling faintly of lemon wood polish- and yes, thank God, her underwear drawer *was* shut. The War and Peace chart was propped up on her bookshelf. It was a work of art. Multi-colored bubbles of paper provided the vital stats for each character, and thin lines connected the bubbles to one another. Rory's tiny, careful print followed along the lines, explaining the relationship between the two connected characters.  
  
Tristan took a half-step forward. It was amazing. He couldn't remember ever putting in that much effort into a school project, and he was an above- average student. Rory's teachers wouldn't even see this, he marveled. It was just to deepen her own understanding of the book.  
  
Rory fidgeted, watching Tristan. Her blue eyes flickered toward the chart. It looked… obsessive. There was no denying it. She was nuts; a sad, obsessive dork with no life outside of schoolwork. Tristan was going to turn around, roll his eyes at her, and hightail it back to Chilton, where her new nickname would be "Crazy Rory, She who is Most Likely to Follow in the Unabomber's Footsteps." Stiffening with irritation, she lifted her chin. Well, that was fine. See if she cared. She had just been trying to *help* him, the big jerk-  
  
"This is incredible." Without preamble, Tristan launched into the numerous questions that were preventing him from following the story. "So why is Prince Anatol such an ass? And what's up with Napoleon? And why does that Nikolai, er, Ana-something dude care?"  
  
Laughing a little, Rory began to explain.  
  
****  
  
One hour and six pages of notes later, Tristan felt like he was ready to tackle the gazillion pages of Tolstoy he had left. "Wow," he said, frowning down at a complicated diagram he'd drawn of one group of characters. "Y'know, the book doesn't suck nearly so much when you have some clue what's going on."  
  
"Glad to be of service," Rory said, grinning at him. Over the past hour, she had lost all traces of her usual self-consciousness.  
  
Tristan hesitated. Should he risk it? He decided to take the plunge. Humiliation-city, here he came. "Er, can I take you out for ice-cream? To thank you? You've- you've really helped me out, and I'd like to, um-"  
  
"Sure," Rory said, surprising them both. "Ice cream sounds great." Tristan blinked at her, utterly taken aback, and her shyness returned in a flood.  
  
"It certainly does," came Lorelai's sweetest voice from the doorway. The two teenagers' heads swiveled toward her in unison. "Can I come too?" She smiled ever-so-prettily at Rory. "I'm ready to behave now."  
  
TBC 


	9. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: Two updates in as many days! Yes, I *am* an updatin' fool. Thank you all for your lovely reviews. Also, I use an Austen quote here, and I am aware that other fanfic writers have done this as well. I assure you, I am not attempting to rip off your work- so, rather than flame me, I do hope that everyone will experience a brief glow at the thought of our shared fabulous taste.  
  
  
  
Part Nine:  
  
  
  
Neither Tristan nor Rory could have explained exactly how it happened, but within ninety seconds Lorelai had bundled them into their jackets, shoved Tristan into his car, and assured him that she and Rory would follow in the Jeep. She did this without seeming unreasonable, breaking a sweat, or raising her voice, but there was no doubt that any arguments would be swiftly and severely dealt with.  
  
"Here," Lorelai said, tossing the keys to Rory. "You drive."  
  
Rory blinked after Tristan's departing taillights. "Ohhhkay. Er-"  
  
"Just one minute, little missy. I'll be right back." Lorelai hotfooted it into the house, darting out a moment later, clutching a small hardbound book. "Okay," she panted. "It's time for a little Gilmore family time."  
  
Rory still felt a little shell-shocked, but she focused on putting the car in reverse and backing carefully out of the driveway. "Uh, sure. Mom? What's going-"  
  
Lorelai held up a hand for silence, flipping through the pages of the book. "Heeeeere we go. I'm gonna break this down for you, babe, and I'm gonna do it using language that you- and only you- will understand." She paused, cleared her throat, and began to read. "'Lizzy, said he, what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?'"  
  
Rory gaped at her. "I- I-"  
  
Lorelai waited patiently for her to finish her sentence. For Lorelai, "patiently" meant about 2.8 seconds. "Well?"  
  
"I cannot believe you just condensed an entire lecture into a single Austen quote," Rory breathed. "If I wasn't worried about it being a sign of the Apocalypse, I think I'd be proud."  
  
Lorelai huffed. "Hey! Focus! What are you *doing*? *Tristan*? I thought you hated him! Remember the P.J. Harvey thing? A certain Biblically- charged nickname? Sexual harassment of the third-grade kind?" She took a deep breath, laying a hand dramatically over her heart. "If you could but imagine my surprise- I was sitting innocently in the kitchen, when I couldn't help but overhear-"  
  
"You were eavesdropping again, weren't you?"  
  
"-my only child, throwing herself to the wolves," Lorelai finished, regally ignoring this interruption. She abandoned the grand manner. "So- what's up, buttercup? I grant you, Tristan's a cutie, but I though we'd agreed that he's a total jerk."  
  
Rory hesitated. "Well, I haven't forgotten the P.J. Harvey incident, or the "Mary" thing, or the, er, third-grade approach to making friends. But he's been really nice the past few days, and I just…" She trailed off, feeling a little foolish. "I just didn't think it would hurt anything."  
  
Lorelai looked at her a little strangely. "Well, not to point out the obvious, but it might hurt you."  
  
Rory thought about it. Then she thought about it some more. "Well, that's possible, I guess. But I'd really like to make a friend at Chilton, and he's the first person to indicate any kind of interest in me- well, other than Paris. And sure, he's been a jerk in the past, but he seems to have backed off on the innuendos. Maybe he's willing to be friends now."  
  
"How can you tell? 'Cause I was picking up some lust-vibes back there."  
  
"I can't tell, not for certain." Rory frowned. "But if I never take a risk, I'll turn into that girl on 'Buffy' who turned invisible because no one ever spoke to her."  
  
"Or you *could* take a risk and end up re-enacting 'Carrie'!" Lorelai paused, then scowled. "I can't believe I'm encouraging you to become *more* of a loner. Look- I firmly believe that if there was one girl on this planet with some kind of weird superhero ability to, er, domesticate foul-tempered, pretty rich boys, you'd be it." She sighed. "I'm not making much sense, am I? It's just- I want you to make friends, but don't let Tristan push you around, okay? Other people will want to be friends with you."  
  
"Mom-" Rory hesitated. "I'm just trying out a few, tiny, itty-bitty baby steps toward friendship with Tristan. If it doesn't work out, I promise I won't let him hurt me or pressure me or anything. But I'd like to try."  
  
Lorelai smiled at her, but there was still a shadow of concern in her eyes. "And I'm in the way of that, aren't I? Well, tell you what. Tell Tristan that I developed an overwhelming urge for a cup of coffee, and drop me off at Luke's."  
  
"He'll think you're weird," Rory warned.  
  
"Naturally- but if he's going to be a friend of yours, then we should establish my weirdness straight off."  
  
Rory bit her lip. "Okay. But… but what if we run out of things to talk about?"  
  
"Then you'll start to babble."  
  
"Thanks, mom."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
  
  
TBC 


	10. Chapter Ten

Author's Note: Hey, guys! I continue among the living. Just lazy- but even I, Queen of the Procrastinators, realize that when I have to look up my own stories to remember what I've written, it has been a little too long between updates. Sorry!   
  
On another note, some friends and I are hard at work on a website devoted entirely to reviews of pop literature- from the romance novels of the ancient Greeks to Nora Roberts novels. If anyone has a few favorite pop fiction authors that they think I shouldn't leave off the list, I'd really appreciate it if they e-mailed me with their suggestions. The categories will be Young Adult, Romance, Suspense/Action, Mystery, and Sci-fi/Fantasy. I promise to give credit where credit is due and would very much appreciate the help.   
  
  
  
Chapter Ten:  
  
  
A small bell tinkled as Rory opened the glass-paneled door to the ice cream shop. Tristan was seated at a round table covered with a pink lace tablecloth, picking at a tiny hole in the lace and scowling at the cow-shaped salt and pepper shakers.   
  
"Howdy." Rory slid into the seat across from him, a tentative smile on her face.   
  
Tristan jumped. He remained a little wild-eyed. "Hi. Uh… where's your mom?" He hoped that the naked fear in his voice wasn't as painfully obvious as he suspected it was.   
  
Rory grinned. He still sounded terrified. "Don't worry, she decided to settle for some long-distance chaperoning."  
  
"Long-distance chaperoning?" The utterly lost feeling was coming back. Tristan was beginning to associate it with entering the Star's Hollow city limits. Rod Sterling, he felt, should be holding up the "Welcome to Star's Hollow!" sign. Truth in advertising.   
  
"Well," Rory explained cheerfully, "she *said* that she was leaving us to our own devices, but chances of that actually happening in this town are- well, I'd say 'slim to none', but I don't think they even merit 'slim'. There's no chance. I can guarantee that Lorelai's got her beady little eyes focused on us right now. She's over at Luke's."  
  
Tristan looked extremely confused. "Uh- and I'm not totally sure that I want to know the answer to this question- but how she be chaperoning us from all the way across the square?" He felt a strange shiver run up his spine. "I mean, how good can her eyesight be?"  
  
"You see that guy on the bench in the square- the one hiding behind the newspaper?" Tristan nodded. "Wait here." Rory got up, opened the ice cream shop door, and raised her voice to allow it to carry across the street. "Kirk! Your paper is upside down!"   
  
The newspaper righted itself and a slim, masculine hand appeared around the edge. It gave a little half-wave of thanks. Rory waved back and returned to her seat. "That's Kirk," she explained, somewhat unnecessarily. "He's keeping an eye on us. He'll keep up a running commentary with Miss Patty- that's the woman leaning on the porch over there, smoking the Cruella DeVille cigarette- the one with the cell phone?" Tristan nodded again. It seemed like the safest response. "I'd bet fifty bucks that the tinny little voice on the other end of that cell phone is my mother's." Rory gave him her sunniest smile. "Lorelai Gilmore sees all, knows all. If I scowl, the woman that takes our orders will probably Mace you."   
  
Tristan cleared his throat and squashed an inexplicable urge to sit up straight and smooth down his hair. "It's like the Mafia."  
  
Rory gaped at him. "It is! I'm *always* saying that! And people just give me an indulgent little smile and tell me that I'm imagining things- well, except for Mom, who laughs her Evil Laugh and agrees with me. She actually *likes* picturing herself as a mob princess."   
  
Tristan grinned at her. "Constant fantasies about ordering hits?"  
  
"Yes! All the time! You should have seen her after the Headmaster yelled at me…." Rory's voice trailed off at the inadvertent reminder of their sophomore year. They'd managed to avoid those.  
  
Tristan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in the sudden silence. "So… what are you gonna order?"  
  
"Hmm. A banana split."  
  
"Sounds good," he said, nodding. "Me too-"  
  
"But with no bananas. And no cherry on it. Those cherries are disgusting. Fruit has no place near dessert- or pizza." Rory looked very grim. "*Especially* pizza."  
  
"A banana split with no bananas?"  
  
"Right. Just a lot of ice cream and chocolate sauce."  
  
"Then why-"  
  
"I like the bowls they come in."  
  
"...okay."   
  
"Well, fruit is acceptable if the dessert in question is pie. Or jelly-filled donuts. But I stand firm on the pizza thing."  
  
"There's fruit in jelly-filled donuts?"  
  
"Well, fruit-based jelly."  
  
"You honestly believe that?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"A smart girl like you- that's almost sad."  
  
Luckily, the waitress came at this point and took their orders, thereby averting a possible quarrel over breakfast pastries. They ate their ice cream, chatting relatively pleasantly about school and rolling their eyes over the first wave of homework. They parted about twenty minutes later.   
  
As she waved goodbye to Tristan's sleek little car and skipped off to join her mother, Rory was conscious of warmer feelings toward her on-again, off-again school friend than she had ever felt before. She felt a little… tingly. As she opened the door to Luke's, she carefully schooled her features into an expression of nonchalance. No point in giving her mother any *more* ammunition then she already had.  
  
As Tristan drove away, he began listing, out loud, all the reasons Rory Gilmore would never fall in love with him. No use getting his hopes up, he told himself.  
  
No use at all.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note:  Heh.  I am on a roll….  

Chapter Eleven:

It was a _very_ long night.  

Around three in the morning- never Tristan's finest hour- he finally dragged himself out of his rumpled bed and stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen.  Locating (not without difficulty) the stainless steel refrigerator tucked in between an ocean of stainless steel cupboards, he pulled it open and dug out a bottle of water.  _Get a grip_, a nasty little voice in his tired brain whispered, _she doesn't like you_.  

But maybe- maybe she could?  

If he kept his mouth shut and his brain turned on and his eyes above her shoulders (_But what about the ear?  Or the curve of her neck? _taunted the voice) a tiny, long-ignored part of Tristan thought that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot with her. 

_Or maybe she'll stomp on your heart again_, said the nasty little voice, encouragingly.  

Shut up, Tristan told the voice, holding the bottle of water against his forehead.  I already know this.  Still holding the water to his head, he dragged himself back up the stairs.  He flopped down on his bed, firmly shutting off his thoughts and closing his eyes, but there was a tiny surge of hope inside him that he couldn't quite squash.

**** 

The weather forecasts for the new day were full of warnings about the heat, tossing around phrases like "another scorcher" and suggestions about sunscreen and not leaving one's pets in cars.  Rory eyed her heavy plaid skirt and knee socks with loathing as she navigated her way through the un-air-conditioned Chilton hallways toward her first period class.  Noting that nobody else seemed to be affected, she idly wondered if air conditioning was too _nouveau_ _riche_ for Chilton.  Maybe the offspring of the fabulously wealthy had their sweat glands surgically removed at birth?

She was still pondering the likelihood of this when she walked into her classroom, when the sight of a tousled blonde head instantly distracted her.  Tristan looked… tired.  Really tired.  His eyelids were heavy and his messy hair looked less like the result of artistically applied gel and more like he hadn't had time to comb it.  She wanted to reach out and fix it for him.  Ooh, or maybe she should get him some coffee.   Coffee always made her feel better….    

On the other hand, maybe the blonde senior girl currently snaking her arms over Tristan's shoulders would perk him up.  

Rory's eyes narrowed as she watched the girl sitting behind Tristan lean forward and wrap her arms around him, a small white square clutched in one beautifully manicured hand.  Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear for a moment and then slid back into her seat, leaving him holding the envelope.  Rory's mouth hardened as she watched the pair, her overactive imagination kicking into high gear.  He was probably tired from- from an orgy!  A _drunken_ orgy!  A drunken orgy involving many model-gorgeous blonde Chiltonite princesses-

"Uh, hi, Rory," Tristan tossed the invitation toward his backpack without another thought, all his attention focused on the dark-haired girl currently scowling at him.  He smiled at her, a trifle nervously.  Why was she suddenly looking like she could spit nails?

"Hi," she said brusquely, intending to slip past him without another word.  Unfortunately, her inner twelve-year-old wouldn't shut up.  "You dropped your girlfriend's note," she pointed out, despising the snide tone of her voice.  Forcing an unconcerned smile onto her face, she pointed at the envelope that had slid off of his backpack to the floor.  

"Huh?" Tristan replied, looking confused.  Following the line of her outstretched hand, he bent and picked up the note.  "And she's _not_ my girlfriend."  In fact, who were they talking about?  Tristan turned around and glanced at the girl sitting behind him.  Oh.  Brittany?  Bethany?  Something like that.  He wasn't sure, but he had a vague memory of making out with her at party the year before.  With a mental shrug, he forgot her and used his car keys to slit open the note.  "Hmm."

"Right," Rory said.  She still sounded huffy, much to her disgust.  Sternly telling herself to stay quiet, she turned to take her seat.  

"It's an invitation to her back-to-school party," Tristan said, frowning down at the note.  "Hmm.  Might as well."  He tossed it back toward his backpack, where it promptly slid off again.  He turned back to the girl sitting behind him.  "Thanks," he told her.  "Er… Bethany."  The girl scowled.  Woops, must have been the wrong name.  

"Well, I'm sure you'll have a perfectly lovely time," Rory told him, her voice dripping with insincerity.  Good Lord, she thought, what was wrong with her?  Would she _never_ shut up?  Why wasn't she currently in her seat, peacefully reviewing her notes, thinking about the class ahead and (most importantly) not talking? 

Tristan was wondering the same thing.  She wasn't turning away, she wasn't ignoring him, and she wasn't attached at the lips to someone else.  Sure, she looked pissed, but you couldn't have everything.  The tiny surge of hope returned… taking a deep breath, he spoke before he could lose his nerve.  "Do you… do you want to come with me?"

Rory stared at him, confused.  "Where?"

Tristan rubbed his eyebrow, a nervous habit he had never quite succeeded in conquering.  "Uh, to the party."  (Neither one of them noticed the irritated "Hey!" from the  girl seated behind him, whose name happened to be Brianna.)

"Okay," said Rory.  Then she sat down and took out her notes, her mind blank with shock.  

Maybe she could blame it on the heat.

TBC  


End file.
